


Damaged Goods

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Permanent physical injury., Pining Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21649300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: Dean might have lost his leg, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to keep on hunting. Much to Sam's annoyance and worry they give it a try and things go from bad to worse to unexpectedly awesome.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam/Dean
Comments: 5
Kudos: 210
Collections: 2019 Supernatural Reversebang Challenge





	Damaged Goods

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my words. Written for the 2019 [](https://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/profile)[spn_reversebang](https://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/) for prompt S2011. Thank you to [](https://sillie82.livejournal.com/profile)[sillie82](https://sillie82.livejournal.com/) for the amazing and very inspiring art.

  
****  
  
Check out the [art masterpost here.](https://sillie82.livejournal.com/455367.html)

He had to prove it. He had to prove it most of all _to_ Sam, that he could do it, that he could still hunt. Really, honestly, he had to prove it to himself. He had to show that could still be worth something. He forced himself to tune back into Sam’s ongoing monologue.

“Goddamnit, Dean, that thing almost took your other leg,” Sam hissed with a trembling voice that balanced barely contained fury with the kind of worry that meant this was probably a whole lot worse than Dean thought.

“Sssorry,” Dean mumbled, words slurring past the blood in his mouth. That was the last thing he said or did for some undetermined amount of time, unknowing, uncaring, passed out oblivion was his best friend for now.

  
****

When he came to, the overwhelming pain forced Dean right out of the present and back into his memories of losing his leg. He could picture it all over again so clearly. He could feel every painful second as his leg was crushed by a poltergeist pressing him between a cement wall and the Impala on the very first hunt they’d done after their final battle with Chuck. He’d been lucky that he hadn’t lost the other leg that time too. As it was, he’d lost everything below his right knee, which was quite enough thanks very much for asking.

Because of that final battle with Chuck, Cas hadn’t been there to fix Dean after the poltergeist dust had settled. There were no angels left on Earth to ask for favors, and Jack had already left them to go fix Heaven. Sam had tried praying to him for help, but Jack had changed things so that angels (or nephilim for that matter) had to stay in Heaven. The way Jack had put it to them, if Heaven didn’t get its shit worked out, then it would all fall apart. As in everything would fall apart, all of reality or whatever.

Dean remembered with exquisite clarity just how hard to say goodbye permanently to Jack it had been. The nephilim had been…well he’d basically been their kid, and both of them missed him terribly. He and Sam had never really talked about the pain of his loss of course, and hell, Sam had been too busy taking care of Dean after the whole losing his leg thing anyway.

It had been months and months of recovery, long painful sessions of PT and more time than he’d imagined getting used to the prosthetic leg. It hadn’t been easy, enduring all the pain was one thing, but getting used to how things had changed had been a whole new thing. And he’d gotten pretty crappy through all that, he knew he had. But Sam had stuck with him through it all. Sam with all his little-brother stubbornness and practicality and so much fucking sympathy he’d wanted to scream (and oh yes he had screamed, many many times).

And that brought him back to the present, who was that he’d just heard screaming?

“Shit, Dean, you gotta hold on, I know it hurts, but c’mon, we’re almost back to the car,” Sam said, panting and wheezing with the strain of hauling him up the steep gravel hill towards the road. That had to be the road up there, right?

Thoughts about exactly where the road was and who was screaming so fucking loudly dimmed and faded away into the grey nothingness that was all too familiar. That passed-out oblivion felt so sweet and restful after all the pain. The only thing that kept him from moving on towards the beckoning light that began to get brighter and more welcoming was Sam’s panicked voice.

“Dean, goddamnit no! Dean, fuck you! You can’t…you can’t just check out now. Not after everything we went through to get you fucking walking again. C’mon, please—you gotta stay with me, we’re almost there.”

He hadn’t been able to respond, but maybe his breathing changed enough to be noticeable, Sam seemed to calm down, his non-driving hand not so tight on Dean’s shoulder. He could feel as his head flopped over into Sam’s lap and his lips landed on the inside of Sam’s wrist. He could feel Sam’s pulse quicken beneath his lips, and he whispered, Sam’s soft skin tasting salty and perfect on his tongue, “Sammy, ‘m here.”

“Oh thank God, no fuck that guy—thank _you_ , Dean. You’re going to be okay, I can see the lights of the hospital right up ahead. Hang in there for me, okay?”

“‘k, Sammy, ‘k,” Dean whispered, lips sticky with blood against Sam’s wrist. He wondered if that saltiness was from blood or sweat, maybe tears, and whose they were. It didn’t matter they’d shared it all.

“We have shared it all, you’re right, Dean. Blood, sweat and tears the whole shebang. And I’ve got you, and you’re staying with me, you’ve got to stay, you promised me.”

“Promised you, yeah ‘m stayin’, promisssed you, Ssammy,” Dean slurred into Sam’s skin, and then he knew no more.

He came to all at once, in a rush, like a shade being pulled up. The pain assaulting him was too much, he couldn’t help groaning.

“Dean?”

It had to be Sam, of course it was, but Dean’s ears weren’t working quite right, and his eyes were messed up too. “Can’t see,” Dean croaked out, surprising himself with how rough his voice sounded. From all that screaming no doubt.

“It’s okay, they’ve just got you bandaged up to keep the skin from creasing. All the stitches were so close to your eye. But you didn’t lose your sight.”

“Just lost my good looks,” Dean mumbled.

“What is it you always say? Chicks dig scars,” Sam chuckled softly.

Dean could feel a soft caress on his cheek. He hummed with the pleasure of being touched so softly.

“You didn’t leave me, you kept your promise, Dean,” Sam said, voice choking up with emotion.

Dean reached out with one hand groping for where he guessed Sam’s would be and clutched his brother’s giant paw against his own cheek. “Course I did, c’mon, Sammy, you know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Sam’s hand tightened around his, and he could hear what sounded like a stifled sob. He must have been closer to seeing Billie again than he’d thought. “Didn’t even get to see Billie this time, no sweat, man.”

Sam laughed, harsh and surprised, echoing in the hospital room. It had to be a hospital, Dean knew that soundtrack all too well, the squeaking of nurses crepe shoes (or those goddamn Crocs) on the linoleum, the pinging and dinging of the equipment, low murmuring voices, a phone ringing distantly. And mostly he could tell by the smell, the antiseptic, too-clean, but still not hiding the yuck quite well enough. He was going to be glad to get out of here. Again.

“When can I get out of here?” Dean asked.

“Last I heard, they were waiting on seeing how you were, when…if you woke up.”

“If I woke…Sam, what else happened besides the cuts by my eyes?”

“Your left leg—they had to put a pin in it to hold the femur together. Your right leg, the thing almost tore your prosthetic off, so they’ll have to readjust it, but only after your stump heals up again.”

“Oh that’s all, pfthfth, piece of cake,” Dean said, trying to put on a show of scoffing in the face of all these new injuries. He sobered up when he realized what this meant for Sam—again.

“I’m sorry you’re going to have to play nursemaid and go through all the PT shit again, Sammy. I just thought I had a good clear shot at the thing, and then it changed course towards you and I still had to try.”

“I had my gun too, you know. And I do know how to use it,” Sam said, sounding like he was gritting his teeth.

“Just come out and say it already,” Dean said, suddenly glad of the bandages on his eyes, he didn’t want to see the anger in Sam’s eyes, it was bad enough having to hear it.

“I don’t have anything to say. It’s pointless to rehash it, and you’ll just do the same thing again, next time.”

“Not gonna be a next time,” Dean said.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll believe that when a vampire turns down a mug of O neg.”

“I mean it, I’m out,” Dean said, surprised at himself for voicing it so clearly.

“It’s the drugs talking, it’s not you, you’ll be antsy to hunt within a week of getting back home. It’s your M.O., dude.”

“I do not have an M.O., fuck you, and it’s different his time.”

“Fuck you right back, how about we leave it at I’ll ask you in a few weeks,” Sam said.

“Okay, you do that, sleeping now…thanks, baby,” Dean mumbled.

“Baby? Are you asking about your car?” Sam asked sounding a little more than confused.

Had he been, no, he hadn’t even thought about his car since waking up. He’d been—shit the drugs were doing the talking. Too much fucking talking. “Yeah, you better have her parked in a covered garage, don’t want her out in all this rain.”

The rain beat harder against the windows and he lost track of what Sam said, he could just feel the warmth of Sam’s hand in his, and that was enough for him.

“It’s enough for me too, Dean,” Sam murmured, his breath tickling the hairs above Dean’s ear. He felt Sam’s lips brush his temple, and then he was tumbling back into the blackness of the morphine curtain.

  
The curtains parted again, and Dean struggled out of the haze. Sam was asleep in the chair next to his hospital bed, his head at an alarming angle. He tried to reach for the water pitcher, his mouth was like cottony sandpaper, tasted like ass. But his hands weren’t quite under his control, moving faster than he’d thought, jerking through the air and knocking the pitcher off. Sam’s head jerked up at the sound and he saw his brother wince at the feeling in his neck.

“Sorry,” Dean said.

“Hey, welcome back,” Sam said, eyes warm with that look that made Dean’s insides squirm and wriggle like a happy puppy.

Sam jumped up and grabbed a towel from the bathroom, mopped up the spilled water and came back with a refilled pitcher. He poured some for Dean to drink and held the cup up to his lips.

Dean drained almost the whole cup and smacked his lips. “You’re gonna end up in this bed if you keep sleeping in that chair. When I woke up, I swear it looked like your neck was broken, dude. Kinda freaked me out.”

Sam rubbed at his neck, massaging the muscles. “Yeah, I’m not going to lie, it’s not the best, but I couldn’t just—“

“I get it, Sammy. I mean, I’d do the same damn thing, have done it, but you gotta take care of you. There’ll be plenty of time to fuss over me once I get outta here, right?”

“Yeah, true. They said end of the week if you keep on improving.”

End of the week? Wait, what the hell day was it? They’d been hunting the thing on Sunday night, because they’d gotten the tip at the Sunday afternoon fish fry in Follets, Iowa, the tiny little town on the edge of the Mississippi River. Just north of Davenport and Moline, so that must mean they were where exactly?

“Where are we?” Dean asked, trying not to sound as confused as he felt.

“We’re at second hospital that they transferred you to, in Davenport. And it’s Wednesday.”

“So I’ve only been out a couple days, that’s not so bad,” Dean said.

Sam’s face fell, that was the only way Dean could think of to describe it. His brother was trying to put on the ‘it’s okay’ face, but he couldn’t keep it up. “What’s wrong?”

“It hasn’t been a couple days, it’s been two and half weeks, Dean. After you woke up and talked to me that first time, you went into a coma. They almost had to do another surgery.”

“Wait, what?” Dean asked, the confusion and terror at all the lost time coming out in a sputtering rush.

“There was too much swelling, in your brain, so they put you on a ventilator, and did this thing where they measured the pressure inside your skull. Luckily the catheter insertion worked and it drained enough pressure.”

“Shiiiiit,” Dean said, trying to take on the newest information.

“That’s the word for it all right. And miracle has been used a lot too,” Sam said, his hand finding its way into Dean’s.

Dean squeezed his brother’s hand and searched his face for more clues on his current condition.

“Your leg is healing up though, and the stitches by your eye came out last week,” Sam said, obviously scrambling to find some good news. “I think they said your brain drains are coming out sometime today.”

“So it’s been a while then. I should’ve figured since your beard’s all the way back,” Dean said, taking in the sight of Sam’s unshaven face.

“I know, I know, I’ll shave,” Sam said.

Dean reached up and ran his hand along the edge of Sam’s beard. “It’s okay if you want to keep it this time, I don’t mind.”

“You were pretty insistent last time if I recall,” Sam said, pressing his head slightly into Dean’s touch.

Dean scratched his fingers lightly through Sam’s beard, it felt deliciously soft against his fingertips. “Last time, it made me sad seeing it, just reminded me that you’d been searching for Michael for so long.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad now?” Sam asked.

“What, knowing you sat here by my bedside waiting for me to wake the hell up and were too consumed by grief and worry to bother to shave?”

“Uh…yeah,” Sam said with a sad smile.

“No, because it was for me this time. Not about Michael, hey call me selfish or whatever. Besides it looks good on you.”

Sam flushed a deep red and smiled in that shy way that made something deep inside Dean’s belly applaud with glee. “Thanks, I guess. It’s past the itchy stage, so maybe I will keep it for the winter.”

“Good, maybe I’ll grow one too. We can shave ‘em off in the spring, have ourselves a party.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam said, blush receded just to highlight his sharp cheekbones above his beard line.

“I meant it, what I said about retiring, that hunt was it for me, I’m out for good this time,” Dean said.

“It’s been a while since we were talking about that for me, hold on,” Sam said, shaking his head a little in confusion. “I know I said I’d believe it when I saw it. But yeah, after the last couple weeks, okay, we’re out. Like you said, for good.”

“I said I was quitting, you don’t have to quit too, Sammy.”

“Well, I’m not an idiot, so I’m not hunting alone. And I don’t want to do it with anyone else. Besides I have to stick around and take care of your sorry ass.”

“Unless there’s some injury you haven’t told me about, my ass is anything but sorry, in fact it has been called fine and perfect rather recently.”

“Oh really, by who?” Sam asked, tilting his head slightly in that way that Dean had always thought of his curious puppy look. The one where he was pretending not to be ravenously curious.

“Pretty sure that should be whom. The last PT I was working with at the hospital near home,” Dean said.

“You should have told me she was coming on to you like that, that’s so not cool to do to a patient.” Sam’s eyes flashed with something like anger (or jealousy)?

“No, not Sherry, I meant Brad,” Dean said. “He was one of the subs.”

“Still, so not cool for any of them to do that. They should know better than to put a patient in a situation like that.”

Dean could swear he heard a possessive growl underneath Sam’s words. “I don’t know, I liked hearing it from the guy, it was kinda motivating to keep working,” Dean said.

“Your ass in particular may not be injured at the moment, but I’m still sticking around whether you like it or not. I’m out of hunting too.”

“We’re both retired hunters, just like that?” Dean asked.

“So say we all,” Sam said with a grin.

“Well, isn’t that something,” Dean said, grinning back at his fool of a brother. He knew Sam would go crazy not hunting, not doing anything but taking care of him. He was betting that Sam wouldn’t last long. Dean tried to keep his smile up as the thought hit him, that meant Sam would finally be leaving him, moving on like he probably should have years and years ago. His smile felt like the biggest lie he’d ever told.

It was a long three days in the hospital now that he was awake for it…mostly. All the nurses and doctors were fine, and Sam finally went and got some rest which was good since he was the one that was going to be doing the eight hours of driving back home from Davenport. Friday morning couldn’t come soon enough as far as Dean was concerned. He wanted to recuperate in private. Well, private as in just with Sam around.

“Just so you know, I can hear you,” Sam said.

Dean startled to see his brother sitting by his bedside in the usual chair with a strange smile plastered on his face. “Oh, didn’t know you were already here.”

“I figured. So how about it, are you ready to get out of here today?” Sam asked.

“I was born ready,” Dean said.

“So I’ve heard—way too many times to have kept track of,” Sam said with a laugh. “They want you to be non-weight bearing on the injured leg for at least two weeks. Now that the prosthetic is fitting right again, I think it’ll go okay with crutches and no wheel chair.”

“What about the brain drains?” Dean asked.

“They got taken out yesterday, remember?” Sam asked, looking momentarily concerned.

Dean shook his head at himself, loving the feeling of not having the drains in the back of his skull. He should have noticed. “They took a lot of stuff out of me yesterday, I’m feeling kinda naked with only an IV in my arm.”

“I brought you some stuff to change into as soon as the nurses give us the go-ahead,” Sam said, choosing to not pursue the whole forgetting thing.

It was going to be that way for a while, random forgetting, that’s what the TBI specialist had warned them about, Dean at least remembered that. That meant it was going to be even harder for Sam this time around.

“Remember back when we’d ditch out of hospitals when the nurses weren’t looking?” Dean asked to fill the silence.

“Ah the good ol’ days of dine and dash, skipping out on hospital bills all over the country,” Sam snarked. “I’m glad we have legit insurance now.”

“Legit as in Charlie hacked it for us,” Dean corrected.

Sam frowned, no doubt remembering Charlie dying soon after she’d solved the insurance issue permanently for them. One of the nurses interrupted with the discharge instructions then, thankfully, because neither of them needed to head down that dark road.

The dark road ahead put him to sleep almost immediately. The familiar hum of his baby, the good shit they’d shot him up with before he checked out. He actually slept, and dreamed about his first time going through recovery. A whole long intense flashback dream of learning how to walk with the prosthetic leg. How they’d had a nurse teach them how to keep his stump clean and un-irritated. He dreamt about how much Sam had put into his recovery, and just how shitty he’d been about accepting the help. He woke up with the urge to say thanks to Sam while he was still in a sleepy drugged haze, before he talked himself out of it.

  
“I never thanked you enough, Sammy,” Dean mumbled, coming back to himself a little after that intense dream. He tried to sit up from where he was slumped up against Sam’s shoulder. He at least wiped the drool off of Sam’s jacket as well as his own face. He’d really been out, he hated how Vicodin knocked him out like that.

“Thanked me for what, Dean?” Sam asked, giving him a driver’s side-eye with a bonus small smile.

“For taking care of me all that time, I know I was a real shit to you a lot of the time. And I’m sorry for that, and that you’re going to have to do it all over again,” Dean said.

“You don’t owe me anything Dean, you would have done the same for me, you have many times,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I would have, but still, you hung in there even with all the screaming and carrying on. And you let me try hunting again even though you were right that I never should have. I put us both in danger. And I wouldn’t have ended up in the fucking hospital again. So…just accept the thanks, even though they’re too little too late.”

“It’s not too late though, and okay, I do accept them. How about this, you’re welcome,” Sam said with a little chuckle. “Time for another pain pill I think.”

After downing the pill Sam handed him, chasing it with some water, Dean settled against his brother’s shoulder again and shut his eyes, letting his brother’s chuckle vibrate through him. It was a more than just pleasant feeling, he liked making Sam laugh or be amused or whatever. It felt good. “I’m glad I can still make you laugh.”

“Me too, sometimes I forget how good it feels,” Sam said, his shoulder moving as he turned the wheel to change lanes.

Dean kept his eyes closed and just enjoyed it, getting to soak up the physical closeness they didn’t usually allow themselves for such an extended period of time.

“Since you’re talking like this because of the drugs, I’ll share a little secret with you, I like it too, you know, so you can lay your head on my shoulder whenever you want to, it doesn’t have to be just when you’re out of your mind with pain,” Sam said.

“I’m not though, the pills are working and I’ve got you,” Dean said.

“I’m glad to hear that, and yes you do have me, for as long as you want me around,” Sam said.

“I know you already know the answer to that one, want you around forever,” Dean mumbled. Did he really say that out loud, and did it matter any more what they said to each other? Both of them knew how messed-up their lives were when they were separated, they’d both tried and failed. Soulmates, man.

“Yeah, soulmates,” Sam said.

“Am I talking out loud or are you reading my mind?” Dean asked in a sleepy mumble.

“Both, or either, wouldn’t you like to know,” Sam said with another delicious chuckle that Dean felt rumble through his whole body where it was pressed up against Sam’s.

Dean made it through the next eight hours by mostly sleeping through it. Sam was always listening to some podcast or music on low whenever he woke up. They stopped only for gas and food they ate in the car, figuring it would be too hard to get set up at a diner table with all of Dean’s paraphernalia. It was cozy, and warm snuggled up to Sam like his own personal space heater. A guy could get used to this. If it wasn’t for the pain, and not getting to drive it would have been one of his all-time favorite drives.

“Really? This would be one of your favorite drives? Out of all the driving we’ve done over the years?” Sam asked.

“Shit, I’m doing the thinking out loud thing again, aren’t I? Either that or you are reading my mind.”

Sam didn’t answer, just waggled his eyebrows which was ridiculous and made Dean laugh. He did it again and Dean laughed even harder.

“Well, what’s your favorite drive then?” Dean asked once he calmed down from the unexpected laughing jag.

Sam glanced over at him and then back at the road. His shoulders went up, almost like he was shrugging, but then they stayed there, like he was bracing for a physical blow. “When you picked me up at Stanford and we drove to Jericho.”

Dean couldn’t speak for a moment, thinking back to that time, to how worried he’d been about what he was doing, interrupting Sam’s new bright and shiny life, yanking him back into hunting, even if it was supposed to be temporary. But why would it have been Sam’s favorite?

“It’s okay that it didn’t end up being temporary, you know that right?” Sam asked.

“I didn’t then, but I do now, yeah,” Dean answered, his throat suddenly choked up with emotion. “I still..I just wish that Jess had been there for you to go back to like she was supposed to be.”

“I don’t, not anymore, I don’t think I could have gone back to trying to live a regular life with her. She deserved someone who was in it one hundred percent, and that wouldn’t have been me. Not back then and sure as hell not now.”

Dean couldn’t answer, he concentrated extra hard on not speaking his thoughts out loud as his stomach churned with the emotions all of this had stirred up. Sam wouldn’t have been smiling if he’d heard what his words had brought on inside of Dean. It was like Sam had rearranged the furniture and the room was dark. Sam was supposed to be over there, safe and sound, away from getting crashed into or pulled into Dean’s mixed-up bag of feelings.

He knew that he’d always felt too strongly about Sam, there had always been too much there, something well past brothers, probably the soulmate thing, but they’d never hashed it out. Dean knew why he had never chosen to push it, because he’d always thought Sam deserved someone better than being stuck with him for the rest of his life.

“I can’t think of anything better, honestly, Dean,” Sam said.

“This isn’t fair, all of this coming out of me without my permission, like fucking truth serum,” Dean said. “Was I like this last time?”

“Well, we didn’t have to drive as far to get home, but yeah, pretty much. But it seemed like you pretty quickly forgot most of what we talked about,” Sam said.

“I’m really sorry for doing that back then and doing it again now. It’s probably going to be worse this time around with the TBI added in. Talk about deserving someone better.”

“That’s just it though, maybe it doesn’t make sense to you, but I need to do this for you. Please just let me take care of you like you deserve to be taken care of. I’ve got to pay you back for all the years you dealt with me.”

Dean thought about how he was going to forget all this caring and sharing, it made his stomach cramp with the pain of it, he didn’t want to lose this…not again…not ever. That meant he should say something about it, on purpose this time, no matter how hard it was.

“Sammy, if I forget all this, like I did last time, can you remind me? It’s not fair for you to know all this and me to be just a dumbass that you’re putting up with.”

“You’re not a dumbass, Dean. And I’m not just putting up with you, this is us being a team, right? We both know you’d do the same thing, so let me do it for you this time, okay? And I promise if you forget all this stuff, I’ll try to be brave enough to remind you.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, drifting off to sleep the last bit before they hit the Kansas state line.

The familiar thump of the garage door closing woke Dean up. They were finally home. He let himself groan while he struggled to sit up straight after Sam had gotten out and closed the door. Plenty of time to let on how much he was really hurting. Soon enough, Sam was opening his door and handing him his crutches from the back seat. He didn’t insist on carrying his own bag, his head was pounding too much just at the effort of standing up.

Sam held the door open and followed him as he crutched his way down the hall to the bathroom. They both relieved themselves and washed up at the sinks. Dean tried to keep the water away from the bandages over his new scars. He noticed Sam’s hisses of pain from his own new scars getting the soap and water treatment.

“You okay over there? C'mere, let me look at it under the light,” Dean insisted even though he could barely focus.

Sam rolled his eyes and stepped into Dean’s space. Dean held himself up with one hand on the sink and traced his fingers next to the slices on Sam’s face. It looked like someone had expertly cleaned and butterfly bandaged him up. “They do this for you in the hospital?”

“Yeah, one of the nurses said she was tired of seeing me bleeding all over everything.”

“You’re gross,” Dean mumbled through a smile.

“You’re gross,” Sam mumbled right back with his own smile.

Dean thumb caught at one bandage that had come un-stuck. “This one needs replacing, they should have given you stitches for this part,” Dean said, his thumb rubbing back and forth against the skin on Sam’s cheek, slightly sticky from the bandage residue. He felt Sam tremble and press into his hand. His eyes met Sam’s and he finally saw.

Dean saw what he’d always known was buried deep inside his brother, right there in Sam’s eyes the truth was uncovered, bare and beautiful.

“Sammy,” Dean murmured.

Sam’s eyes flicked down to his lips briefly like he needed to see Dean’s lips move as his nickname was being said. Dean licked them on instinct and heard a stifled sound come from his brother. He leaned into Sam and tilted his face up. Sam’s met him and their lips brushed together just slightly, teasingly soft, heartbreakingly tentative.

Dean’s hand on Sam’s cheek moved behind his neck, pulling him down for a real kiss. One that was almost wet, a hint of tongue teasing, Sam melting into his hold, but then Dean’s leg, his stump really, gave a spasm from all the unaccustomed weight, making him unsteady.

Sam’s hands caught at his waist, holding him steady. “We better get you to bed, huh?”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Dean said, cursing himself for spazzing out just when they were getting somewhere good.

Sam stepped away from their near embrace and grabbed the crutches. He held them out to Dean and didn’t meet his eyes.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, taking the crutches and stepping forward towards him. “You okay?”

Sam looked up at him finally, hair in his eyes as usual, hiding the almost tears still clinging to his lashes. “Yeah, I’m good, just really fucking glad that you’re home, Dean.”

Dean crutched one step closer and laid his head on Sam’s shoulder, sighing at how good it felt, just like it had in the car. “Me too.”

Sam’s hand came up and ran through Dean’s hair, then his fingers traced the edge of his ear. “Let’s get to bed, huh? I’m tired after all that driving.”

Dean lifted his head up, reluctant to lose the contact and started to crutch his way down the hall. He heard Sam sigh and switch off the bathroom light and begin to follow. Dean headed to his own room, stopping to let go of one crutch and open the door. His unmade, rumpled bed looked the same as when they’d left a few weeks ago.

Sam stepped past him and straightened out the bedding, Dean watched as Sam’s hands smoothed out the sheets. “You don’t have to do—“

“Yeah I do, I want to. Just get changed,” Sam said.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, turning to his bureau and finding a pair of sleep pants and his favorite because it was the softest, old Zeppelin t-shirt. He leaned the crutches up against the wall next to the bed and lowered himself down to sitting. He took off his shirts and was about to put his t-shirt on when he noticed Sam was doing the same.

“So you’re stealing my clothes now, huh?” Dean asked, eyes raking over how the words printed on his Metallica “One” shirt looked stretched over Sam’s chest.

Sam stood up straighter and seemed to puff up his chest, the words distorting even more. “What’s yours is mine, or something, right?”

Dean concentrated on getting his own shirt on, instead of figuring out what the hell Sam meant by that. Then time seemed to skip, and Sam was kneeling on the floor in front of him, reaching up to undo Dean’s pants. Dean pressed his hands down into the bed, lifting his butt up enough for Sam to pull the hospital pants the rest of the way off. Sam’s hands were on his bared thigh, massaging gently above the stump.

“God, you’re really tight,” Sam said with a tongue click that meant he was worried. “Must be all the sitting upright in the car. I should have had you lay down in the back seat.” He kept pressing deeply into Dean’s quadriceps, moving his fingers until he felt them release.

“Ah, thanks, that’s better,” Dean managed to say, god it felt so good to have his brother’s hands on his bare skin. He hoped Sam wasn’t noticing how it had affected him.

Sam unhooked Dean’s prosthesis and set it next to the bed near the crutches. He examined the stump around where the titanium rod protruded from Dean’s skin. “You really healed up well here. Lucky thing, otherwise we would have had to get some wheelchair ramps installed here at home.”

Dean didn’t say anything, he just let himself luxuriate in the good feeling he always got whenever Sam called the bunker home. There was just something about it, because he’d been so hesitant before. Dean wondered if it meant something had changed for his brother, he let himself momentarily dare to hope.

Sam leaned over to examine Dean’s left leg where the incision for his recent femur repair was still healing. “Tomorrow I’ll change the bandages on this one and see how it’s doing. It feeling okay?”

“I can’t really tell, so I guess it’s okay,” Dean said. He was relieved that Sam wasn’t noticing, or at least that he wasn’t saying anything about his obvious state of arousal. The pajama pants felt wonderfully soft on his skin as Sam pulled them up his legs, being oh-so-careful around his newest incision.

Dean pushed himself up again so Sam could pull them under and up around his butt. Sam’s hands stayed there, against Dean’s lower back for a long moment where Dean wasn’t sure if a back massage or something else was coming.

“I’m not sure what to do here, Dean,” Sam finally said, sitting back on his heels and looking up at Dean. His hands were still on Dean’s back so he counted that as a win.

  
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, concentrating on not squirming with the pleasure of Sam’s closeness.

“You’re so hard and you’re right there, and I want to—“ Sam stopped himself, blushing bright red. He took one hand off of Dean’s back and adjusted himself, making it so obvious that Dean couldn’t miss that Sam was just as hard.

“Oh…well, I want it too, whatever you want, I mean…if that helps you decide,” Dean said, feeling a blush of his own start up his cheeks.

“I don’t want to take advantage, you’re on pain pills, and I don’t…”

“I haven’t had one in a while. Besides, you won’t hurt me, I know you won’t, and hey, look at me, c’mon,” Dean said, willing Sam to look up.

Sam finally did and his eyes were—he’d never seen this look before. They were full of everything, all the range of emotions they usually hid from one another. His little brother felt everything so deeply, so passionately, it was a surprise to feel it aimed right square at him like this.

“You won’t be taking advantage. You never could, Sammy, not of me, never,” Dean said, finally brave enough to reach out and cup Sam’s cheek in one hand. Sam closed his eyes at his touch and pressed into his hand. “I’m all yours.”

Sam looked at him, sharp and assessing, with a nearly visual growl of possession that almost spooked Dean. Instead it gave him a thrill of desire running up his spine and flushing through his whole body. He was even harder than before, harder than he’d been in what felt like months.

Sam nuzzled his face against Dean’s lower belly, his sharp chin pressing into Dean’s almost painfully where he was the hardest. His hands were roaming all over Dean’s skin, his back, his thighs, up his chest. Sam sat up then, and took Dean’s mouth over in a passionate kiss that seemed to last forever and not nearly long enough. Dean never wanted it to end, the feeling of this first, this new, this finally kiss. It was sweet and hot and just…everything.

Dean couldn’t think straight, and it wasn’t the pain or the pain pills, it was Sam taking over all of his senses at once, filling them with his Sam-ness more than usual. He always saw and heard and smelled Sam, practically all day every day, he was used to that. But getting to taste and touch too, all at the same time, it was the best overload, exquisite and fulfilling and not nearly enough. A wildfire of raw wanting ran through him, making him tremble in Sam’s embrace.

Sam pulled back, panting like he’d come back from a sprint workout. “You okay, did I hurt you?” Sam asked with a worried frown.

Dean couldn’t speak, he could only nod, and try to smile, and Sam understood in a bare instant and gathered him back into his arms, kissing him breathless all over again. Dean let the waves of desire roll through him this time, they went on and on, as he finally accepted that Sam wasn’t stopping or letting up. Then he heard words, someone was speaking, it wasn’t him this time, it was Sam murmuring against his lips. “Always wanted this, Dean. Always wanted you, just like this.”

Dean pulled back then, and found his voice, “Me too, Sammy, always.”

Sam took over again, this time he managed to get Dean’s shirt off, as well as his own. He arranged Dean on the bed and knelt between Dean’s thighs, his giant hands wrapping around his ass, pulling and kneading until Dean thought he’d go insane with how damn good it felt. Sam’s hair softly brushed his stomach, and then his lips were on him, soft at first and then insistent. Just like his kisses, Dean briefly thought before his mind was blown with how good it felt to be sucked most of the way into Sam’s mouth. He didn’t care where Sam had learned this (no he really did but that was maybe something for later), but oh god it was perfect. The suction, the heat of his mouth, how wet and hot with the perfect pressure on the tip as he brushed the back of Sam’s throat.

His hips gave a little pulsing thrust, and Sam’s throat closed around him, obviously choking a little. His hands were still kneading and pulling at Dean’s ass, and Sam’s hair was brushing over his stomach so perfectly in rhythm and it was all too much and it was all too good. Dean could feel one of Sam’s hands leave his ass and felt the bed shake as his brother stroked himself to climax, groaning as he came. That sound made Dean come too, the vibration of Sam’s moans pushing him over the edge.

He was briefly ashamed to pass out so instantly as he did, accepting the blankness once again.

The next morning, Dean woke up first, in pain because he hadn’t taken a pill before falling asleep. He was warm though, all along his back, and it smelled like sex, and he was in his bed. And in an instant, he remembered what they’d done last night. His body flushed with heat just at the memory, not from shame, but from the raw hope that it would happen again, that he didn’t dream all of it.

“No, you didn’t dream it, Dean,” Sam said in a sleepy mumble against the bare skin of Dean’s back.

Dean felt himself quickly harden, just from the feeling of Sam’s lips moving on his skin. Sam’s hand which had been resting on Dean’s belly moved a little lower, closing over Dean’s hardness. He thrust a few times into Sam’s hand, also pressing back into Sam’s hardening cock behind him. Sam ground his hips forward as he slowly jacked Dean, it was the best sort of torture, drawing this feeling out as long as possible, turning himself inside out at the weight of his brother’s hands on him, his lips murmuring filthy things into the skin of his back.

Dean’s hand scrabbled back at Sam’s hip, holding them close together, his fingers tightened, pressing deep into Sam’s skin over his hip bone, denting him permanently, bruise-tight as Dean shouted out his climax. Sam’s hips sped up briefly, his cock rutting between Dean’s ass cheeks, a few times until Dean felt Sam’s hot release. It wasn’t even seven in the morning and they were already a glorious mess.

“This is the kind of mess I don’t mind cleaning up after,” Sam chuckled into his shoulder.

Dean rolled onto his back so he could see Sam. His brother’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled with laughter and something else that Dean couldn’t bring himself to name out loud.

“I always wanted to wake up just like this with you,” Dean said.

“And now you have,” Sam said. “So what’s next?”

“Get me a pain pill and I’ll tell you,” Dean said.

Sm laughed as he climbed out of bed, gloriously naked as he washed up at the sink. He brought a washcloth and a pain pill back, cleaning Dean up as he swished down the pill. Dean lay back on the bed and watched as Sam pulled on some clothes out of his dresser.

“I like seeing you in my clothes,” Dean said.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, twitching his hips as he pulled a pair of Dean’s boxer briefs up.

“Oh yeah,” Dean growled, reaching out to smooth his hand over the perfect curve of Sam’s ass. “God damn your ass looks good in these.”

Sam looked over his shoulder and down at Dean, eyes twinkling with the same unnamed thing. “I can’t wait to see you in mine.”

Dean groaned at the thought of wearing Sam’s clothes, it would feel so good, he could picture how the oversized flannels would drape over his skin.

The next few weeks of recovery time weren’t as bad as Dean had thought they’d be. There wasn’t nearly as much yelling as the first time around, although Sam disputed how much there really had been. He felt cooped up though, it was easier to hang out on his bed in his room as the chairs in the library and the stools in the kitchen weren’t very comfortable as his hip healed. He got to know the rhythm of his ceiling fan very well.

Sam stuck with him, most of the day he would spend sitting on the bed with Dean, reading as Dean watched dumb shit on his tablet. He binged all the old schlocky horror movies that had been the soundtrack of their childhood. Sam told him it was relaxing, he was used to it after all. They fooled around a lot, which was awesome and took his mind off the pain.

Sam was sneaky about getting him to do the recommended PT moves, converting the workouts into erotic massages, which was okay as far Dean was concerned. After all this time denying themselves, falling into being lovers was the easiest thing they’d ever done. It just worked, it was them, loving each other with their bodies as well as everything else. Although that particular word wasn’t used of course.

As the weeks passed, Dean got stronger and no longer needed the crutches. He could get up and down the stairs without much help and was back to cooking at least one meal a day. It almost seemed too easy, just quitting—boom all at once like this. Hanging it up, a lifetime of hunting, just…over and done, just because he said so.

They were sitting in the kitchen, finishing up the ham and asparagus casserole Dean had made when he realized why it was so easy. Because Sam had made it that way, he hadn’t stuck up for what he wanted.

“It’s been a few weeks since we talked about this. But I’m not hunting again, that’s still how I feel, just…you know, in case you were wondering,” Dean said, scraping up the rest of his casserole on his fork. He watched as Sam thought about what he’d said.

“I was actually wondering, because I figured you’d change your mind once you got better. Like you did last time, as soon as you were walking, you were bugging me to find a case,” Sam said.

“Well, I don’t want a case, not ever again,” Dean said.

Sam looked up in surprise, no doubt reacting to the stubbornness in Dean’s voice. “C’mon, really?”

Dean put his fork down and reached across the table for Sam’s hand. He twined their fingers together. “Really, Sammy.”

Sam sighed with relief, his hand tightening around Dean’s. “I never thought you’d mean that.”

“I do, I have so much more to lose now,” Dean said. “It’s just not worth it, you know?”

“I do know, yeah,” Sam said with a slow nod and smile that made Dean’s heart beat faster.

“But you can hunt if you want to, it’d be okay with me,” Dean said. “Or if you need to go somewhere else, school or something, that’d be okay too.”

“You trying to get rid of me or something?” Sam asked, tilting his head, eyebrows scrunched up in worry, which should be so adorable.

“Why, you want to leave or something?” Dean challenged right back, knowing in an instant how stupid that sounded. He let go of Sam’s hand and twisted his own hands together under the table. Why the hell was he trying to start a fight like this?

Sam’s face clouded over, Dean could see his internal sunshine dimmed and dark clouds gathered in his eyes. “I’m not leaving. I don’t want to hunt without you, and I don’t want to go off to school or anything else. But if you’re feeling crowded or something, then speak up, we can change things. Maybe it’s too much for you jumping into all of this, I don’t know, you tell me, Dean,” Sam said, looking sadder then Dean had seen him a very long while.

Dean thought about it for less than a split second. “I don’t want to change anything, but I don’t want you to stay with me because you’re guilty or feel like you have to take care of me because I’m a gimp now. Basically, I don’t want you to feel stuck here.”

Sam’s head tipped down, his shoulders slumped and his hair blocked Dean’s view of his face. He counted to ten before saying anything.

“Sammy, I just don’t want you to waste your life stuck in the bunker with me.”

“What if I want to stay here and waste my life, would you let me?” Sam mumbled in a hollow voice that made Dean’s stomach cramp with fear. He was still hiding behind his hair.

“That’s not what—“ Dean started to say.

“That’s what you said, Dean. And it’s goddamn bullshit and I know you know it!” Sam yelled, finally looking up at Dean, eyes ablaze with anger. “I want to be here with you, I want to have a life with you, and if there’s no hunting in our future that is more than okay with me. But if you don’t want me here, for whatever reason, then just say it now and get it over with.”

Sam got up from the table in a rush and stalked to the doorway. He stopped himself, holding onto the doorframe with a white-knuckle grip, his shoulders were hunched and his whole body was turned away from Dean.

“You made me promise you something, in the car on the way home from the hospital,” Sam said in that sad, hollow tone that Dean dreaded ever hearing. It was the tone that meant he’d really truly screwed up.

“I did?” Dean asked, mouth going dry with fear, what the hell had he said.

“You were talking a lot more than usual about your uh...feelings and stuff,” Sam said, still facing away from him.

“I was out of my mind on account of the meds, you know that,” Dean protested. He wished that it didn’t take him so long to get up and start walking, otherwise he’d be across the room already.

“You said it felt like truth serum, and maybe I’m a bigger idiot than I’d thought I was, but I believed you, Dean,” Sam said. His shoulders heaved up and down in a full body sigh.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” Dean asked, fully confused now.

Sam finally turned around, his face was no longer angry, just sad which was a million times worse in Dean’s opinion. “You asked me to remind you, about what you’d said ‘under the influence’. You made me swear that I would this time.”

“Wait a second, this time?” Dean asked.

“You did a lot of talking during your first recovery too, but you didn’t make me promise to tell you like you did this time.”

“Those fucking meds,” Dean grumbled.

“They saved your ass, dude,” Sam said with a grimace, no doubt remembering all the screaming and shit he’d had to have put up with.

“No, pretty sure that was you, dude,” Dean said, flashing on Sam hauling him out of that god forsaken house and tying on a tourniquet at the same time he drove to the nearest hospital. Fucking hero right here.

Sam ducked his head, no doubt to hide his blush, which was a damn shame in Dean’s opinion. Sam’s blushing was one of the cutest things about him.

“So just tell me then, when I was spilling my guts, what’s worth remembering about all that?”

Sam raised his head and leaned his back against the doorframe. “You—you were very clear about you feelings. You told me that you wanted me around forever, and that because we are soulmates, neither of us did well without the other. Which I agree with of course.”

“Soulmates, huh?”

“Yeah, soulmates. And then you said that the drive back from the hospital was one of your favorite drives and you asked me what mine was. I told you it was when you picked me up at Stanford.”

“You did, why?” Dean’s brain throbbed at trying to remember.

“Let me get you some Advil at least, I can see you grimacing from here,” Sam said. He stepped back down into the kitchen and found the kitchen bottle of Advil. He brought two pills and a glass of water over to Dean. Sam waited patiently while Dean slugged it all down before continuing.

“I told you that it was okay that it didn’t end up being temporary and you said you were just sorry I didn’t have Jess to go back to like I was supposed to.”

“I did? What did you say?” Dean asked, massaging at his temples. He hated this TBI shit, not remembering, having these giant random holes in his memory.

“I said that I wasn’t wishing that I’d been able to go back to Jess. I don’t, not anymore, I don’t think I could have gone back to trying to live a regular life with her. She deserved someone who was in it one hundred percent, and that wouldn’t have been me. Not back then and sure as hell not now.”

“I always thought you deserved someone better than being stuck with me for the rest of your life,” Dean said.

“That’s exactly what you said last time,” Sam said with a slow and perfect smile.

“And what did you say to that?” Dean asked, wondering why Sam was smiling.

“I’m smiling because I told you that I honestly couldn’t think of anything better. That’s when you made me promise to remind you,” Sam said with same beautiful smile.

Dean wished he could remember, but as much as he struggled it was just blank, no—not blank, the memories were smeared into something unrecognizable. “I’m sorry, for forgetting, for not letting this just happen like it’s supposed to, for being a gimp and a burden,” Dean said.

“It’s okay, Dean, all of it, your injury—it’s part of you, and that’s what I want. Just you and me, right?” Sam asked, the genuine hopefulness shining out so brightly.

“That’s all I want, Sammy. Just you and me,” Dean said.

“Agreed, and no more hunting,” Sam said.

“Deal,” Dean said, matching Sam’s smile.

Sam got up from his seat across from Dean and sat next to him. He put his arms around Dean and tugged him over so they were pressed together. Dean wrapped his arms around the solidity of his brother and sighed from the comfort that it brought him.

“And if you forget all this again, I promise to remind you,” Sam added, speaking the words into Dean’s neck where he had his face buried.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, his smile turning into a grin. Even though he hated that his brother had to make promises like that now, it still meant everything to him that they were finally on the same page. The page where they got to be together, like they were supposed to be.

“Yeah, just like we were supposed to be,” Sam said.

“Are you reading my mind or am I just talking out loud again?”

Sam pulled away from the hug a bit and waggled his eyebrows, the unstated wouldn’t you like to know was loud and clear.

Dean didn’t know if he’d rather have his brain injuries make him spill his guts all the time or his brother be a psychic mind reader or his brain injuries. Either way, he had Sam now, and Sam had him.


End file.
